Chapter Text
8 years old.
“Lo’ak- dad said to go back to the hut,”
Neteyam hisses at his brother, following him despite his better judgment, as brothers do.
“And we will go back. I just want that one,” he watched Lo’ak strain as he lifted himself onto a precariously fragile branch to reach the ripest Fortune’s fruit on this damned tree.
“Your greed… astounds me.” Neteyam grits his teeth as he scrapes his elbow against bark.
“I told you to wait down there,” Lo’ak has enough gall to stop his climbing to turn and glare at him.
“So you could slip, break your neck and land on top of me?” Neteyam shoots back.
“Quit whining. I’m almost-“
A crack echoes the forest and the pair of them freeze.
“You skxawng.” Neteyam whispers. “Don’t move.”
“It’s cracked?” Lo’ak breathes, gripping the branch above him till his knuckles turned white.
Neteyam looks at the branch his brother stood on.
“Don’t. Move.” He repeats again, “In the name of Eywa, don’t-“
Lo’ak shifts his weight onto his left leg.
The branch snaps.
The one he held couldn’t take his weight.
And just when Neteyam was about to grab his brother by the tail to keep him from plummeting to his death, a hand shoots out from within thick leaves, grips Lo’ak’s arm from above them, and holds on tight.
He looks up in surprise.
A girl with eyes the colour of lime blinks down at them curiously.
“Don’t let me go,” Lo’ak pleads almost immediately.
Her eyes focus on his brother’s face, then on the hand he had managed to curl around her forearm for support.
“Five…” She whispers, studying Lo’ak’s hand, “You are Toruk Makto’s son.”
“Yes. Yes- and Toruk Makto’s son would really appreciate it if you didn’t drop-“
“You are stupid.” She says simply.
Lo’ak almost lets go of her arm.
“Excuse me-“
“These branches cannot hold your weight. Why try?” Her question didn’t even sound mocking. Instead, it sounded like she was genuinely confused by his brother’s lack of thought.
“The fruit is-“
“On these branches. Meaning that it was not for you.” She says simply.
Finally, she looks at Neteyam, and he, just as stupid as his brother apparently, feels his face burn under her gaze.
“Grab his leg.” She tells him simply, and he doesn’t immediately move, not until Lo’ak swats at his face with his tail impatiently.
He wraps his right hand around Lo’ak’s ankle firmly.
“Guide him down to the branch beside you.” She instructs, but when he tries to, Lo’ak scrambles, panicking at the idea of having to blindly step down.
He opens his mouth to reassure him that he was going to help, but the girl beats him to it,
“I will not let go. Not until you are standing safely.” She promises.
He watches Lo’ak swallow, nod, and lower himself slowly, following Neteyam’s direction as he places his brother’s foot on a sturdy branch beside him.
“Good. Follow with the other,” she tells Lo’ak gently.
And when both feet and one hand had a sturdy grip and hold on the tree, did she let go of his brother’s hand.
“Thank you.” Neteyam looks up at her gratefully.
“You are not yet on the ground.” She reminds, gesturing for them to start climbing down, eyes watchful of every step they took in their descent.
Once both Neteyam and Lo’ak were safely back on grassy ground, she moved to disappear back into the thick green leaves she’d first come out of, but it was Neteyam who’d stopped her.
“Are you alone?” He calls, ignoring the confused glance Lo’ak gave him as consequence.
The girl freezes, peering down at the two boys again, “Alone?” She repeats slowly, telling him she wasn’t perfectly fluent in English.
“Le'awtu,” Lo’ak provides usefully.
She looks around her as if to check, before looking down and nodding.
“Come down.” Neteyam gestured, but when she didn’t immediately move, he continued, “What’s your name?”
That she gave easily, her lips curving into a small smile, and Neteyam was smiling back like the skxawng he was.
“Tì’eylora.” She answers.
He greets her, pressing two fingers to his forehead, “Neteyam.”
She squints when she smiles.
Her eyes flick to his brother and when he simply just blinks at her, Neteyam elbows him, hard.
“Lo’ak,” he grits out, copying Neteyam’s greeting whilst rubbing his side with his other hand.
Her smile grows, and she makes the decision to start climbing down. As indifferent as Lo’ak wanted to act, he too, couldn’t help but watch as a girl who couldn’t possibly be any older than them, climbed down one of the tallest trees in their forest with utmost ease.
“You climb well,” Neteyam doesn’t hesitate to call out as she descends, causing one of her feet to slip.
He swallowed as he watched her regain her footing , keeping his mouth firmly shut until she too, landed on the soft ground beside him.
She had seemed taller in the trees because now, as she straightened, he realised she was hardly an inch taller than Lo’ak, and at least four shorter than him.
“Do you have any friends?” He asks curiously.
She shakes her head.
He looks at Lo’ak, his mind made up.
“Any siblings?” His brother asks, “Brothers or sisters?”
“Sisters,” she nods, “Two. Older.”
“Great! You can go find them and-“
His brother finds himself at the receiving end of another one of Neteyam’s elbows. This time, he scowls, “What?”
“Come with us,” Neteyam offers but when Lo’ak’s face morphs into one of complete outrage, he hurries to add, “We have a little sister, Kiri. She wants a friend. Isn’t that right, Lo’ak?”
He glares pointedly at his younger brother, who mutters something under his breath, but nods.
“Kiri?” She tests the name out on her tongue and Neteyam nods,
“Kiri. She would like a friend.”
———
10 years old
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Three heads that had been busy in a heated debate, snap towards her, and Tì’eylora expression falters at the attention, immediately regretting the decision to put in her two pence.
“What I meant to say is that I don’t think it’s safe,” she mumbles, pulling a three year old Tuk that was trying to eat a leaf off a bush, back into her lap.
Neteyam points to her triumphantly, both to prove a point and taunt his brother, “See. Even Lora disagrees.”
“She only disagrees because you disagree!” Lo’ak accuses, crossing his arms, “She always does what you say. Her opinion doesn’t count.”
“I do not-“ Lora looks affronted, but is cut off.
“Yes it does, Lo’ak!” Kiri glares, wrapping an arm around Lora’s shoulders defensively, “You’re just angry that no one but Spider wants to be a part of your stupid plan!”
Spider simply shrugs.
“It’s not stupid! The only stupid thing here is-“
“Lo’ak.”
Lo’ak’s mouth snaps shut and all five of them turn to watch his mother walk towards them, right past her eldest three children and straight to her youngest, Tuk, who Tì’eylora held out.
“Did you do these, Kiri?” She asks, gently touching the few braids in her youngest daughter’s hair.
“No, Lora did,” Kiri answers easily, busy fiddling with a few beads.
Tì’eylora opened her mouth to apologise, but Neytiri beat her to it.
“You have nimble fingers, child. You should teach my daughter.” She takes one of the younger girl’s hands into her own, inspecting them.
“Tì’eylora also beaded in my tstxo.” Neteyam adds, touching his neck where the bone sat.
His mother looks over at him, stares at the neck piece he had fashioned, and then nods, straightening to her full height.
“Who is your mother?” She asks Tì’eylora.
Neteyam looks at his friend, unease settling in his chest. None of them had ever asked her where her parents were. She’d never mentioned them- only occasionally spoke of her sisters.
Tì’eylora simply shakes her head, her ears lowering.
Neytiri’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing. Simply turns and walks back towards her kelku.
Kiri, seeming unbothered, stood, stretched, and announced that she was going to bed.
Naturally, Spider followed.
Lo’ak, who’d conveniently forgotten about his plan to sneak onto a Ikran, turned to look at Tì’eylora.
His expression morphed into one of doubt, so he naturally turned to his brother instead. He slapped Neteyam on the arm in a sign of support, before following in his sister’s footsteps.
Neteyam looked over at Tì’eylora, only to find her staring at the ground determinedly.
“Lora,” he shifts closer to her, lowering his head to catch her gaze.
She looks up at him, eyes cautious.
He didn’t say anything, just waited patiently.
She eventually sighs, looks back down at the ground beneath them, pays extra attention to the roots of the tree she sat against.
“My father was killed by the sky people months before I was born,” she whispers, tracing the tree’s lifelines with her fingers, “Eywa took my mother during my birth.”
She looks up at Neteyam, and only now did he note actual anguish in her voice,
“When she died… T’sahik told my sisters that I was born with a weak heart, that I was touched too lightly by Eywa.”
“I don’t understand-“ he frowned, “How can one be weak hearted?”
“I cannot run fast,” she tells him bitterly, “My chest starts to ache and the air burns my lungs.”
She looks up, at the vast branches above them,
“That’s why I climb. Because I cannot run.”
“You climb well,” he echoes the words he’d told her the day he’d first met her. But they were apparently not what she wanted to hear because she shakes her head,
“I am still weak.” She whispers.
His brow furrowed, and despite his youth, he knew that out of everything he’d learnt since he’d met her, the one thing he knew in certainty was that this girl was anything but weak.
———
13 years old
“Neteyam!” She squeaks as he splashes her with water, “Stop!”
“I need to hear you say it, Lora,” he teases, “Come on-“
“No-“ she gasps as he splashes more water at her, wading deeper into the river.
“Lora-“ he calls cautiously, but it’s too late, she’s slipping on a rock and he’s already diving forwards, his hand finding her arm just as her head dips under the water.
He pulls her back up, watching her splutter, pushing back her mass of wet hair so she can breathe,
“I’m sorry,” he wipes at her eyes, “Lora- I didn’t mean-“
The laugh that tumbles out of her startles him.
“Some mighty fisherman you are,” she teased, but then coughed, and he really didn’t like the wheezing noise that came out of her chest as she did.
“Come on,” he pulls her closer, helping her find her footing as they reach the shallower end, “Let’s sit for a bit-“
“I’m fine,” she insists stubbornly, “It’s hot- let’s stay in the water for a bit-“
“Lora,” he shakes his head, his expression serious.
Her shoulders fall, but she takes the hand he holds out to help her sit on the riverbed.
He stands in the water in front of her, watching her take a few steady breaths with concerned eyes.
“I’m fine,” she repeats, looking down at him, “I’ve been training with T’sahik. She’s taught me many exercises to keep me strong.”
He wants to tell her that breathing exercises can only do so much, but she’s got that proud look in her eyes that she always gets when she talks about her training, so instead he simply nods. Gives her this. She deserves more.
“Your training is going well. Kiri never stops talking about how you progress.” He smiles at her.
She nods enthusiastically with a smile of her own, and he uses the opportunity to check if the colour had returned to her lips.
“I’m so grateful to your mother, Neteyam,” she whispers, “If she hadn’t recommended me to T’sahik-“
“She was always going to. You’re our nimble fingers… remember?” he teases, pinching her arm gently.
“Yeah…” she chuckles, but then her expression turns somber, “I wish you had more time to hang out,” she mumbles.
He nods, “I do too. But i enjoy patrol with my father… it’s exciting.” He lays back in the water, floating as he looks up at the sky. “Flying the Ikran… it’s unlike anything else.”
“Has Lo’ak gotten over how you tamed yours on your first try whilst he’s failed five times already?” She chuckles.
“Lo’ak is impatient. The day he learns how to wait for something is the day he’ll ride.” He rolls his eyes.
“The clan talks proudly of you. They believe being the youngest to ever tame an Ikran means you will be a formidable Olo’eyktan.” She tells him softly.
He sits up in the water, “Do you?”
“Even if you never got on the back of one of those beasts, I’d still believe you’d be a great leader,” She tells him sincerely, and Neteyam is saved the embarrassment of getting emotional by his brother, who chose that precise moment to appear and catapult himself into the water beside him.